


Stone

by Kangofu_CB



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: I can't believe I wrote this fucking pairing, M/M, a new, back from Mars Zechs, birthday fic for my bestie, mild roast angst, more humble version, rumor mill is a grindin, talk of scars and such
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 12:18:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13248093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kangofu_CB/pseuds/Kangofu_CB
Summary: Recently back from a five year, self-imposed exile on Mars, Zechs Merquise is assigned to partner Duo Maxwell.  It does not go how he expected, at all.A Birthday Fic for ClaraxBarton





	Stone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ClaraxBarton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/gifts).



> For Clara
> 
> Happiest of all birthdays. 
> 
> I know this has been a tough year, and especially a tough last few months, and I hope this birthday fic helps to show you just how much you are loved and appreciated. Your friendship has quickly become one of the most important aspects of my life, and I wouldn’t be the writer I am without your support.
> 
> I also wouldn’t be writing this ridiculous pairing.
> 
> All my love,  
> CB

_ “Give me all your shame _

_ Put all your weight on me _

_ And I’ll be the stone that you need me to be” _

_ -Stone by Jaymes Young _

* * *

 

Zechs opened the door to his newly-assigned office, and his newly-assigned partner, with resignation.  He opened the door quietly, but not stealthily, not sneaking, and braced himself.

Five years on Mars wearing the moniker Zechs Merquise had given him a lot of perspective.

And a healthy sense of his own mortality.

When nothing sharp-edged came flying at him from across the room and no gun in sight, he entered the room, shutting the door behind him with a click.

“Mornin’ yer highness.”

Zechs looked the speaker over critically - the sneer on his face, the belligerent look in his eyes. 

Duo Maxwell didn’t look all that different than he had at the height of the wars.  Taller, probably, though he was slouched in a chair, making it difficult to be sure.  Broader shoulders.  The roundness of his face had given way to an angular jaw, a meter long braid dangling over his shoulder.

The ability to drive the nearest human being to distraction with mere words certainly wasn’t new.

It was probably Une’s idea of a joke, partnering him with Maxwell.  Or some kind of twisted revenge for everything that had happened between them.  For Treize.  

A man Zechs had once idolized, who he had come to realize was simply a master manipulator of all around him, who had probably engineered and reveled in the low-level animosity he’d created between his two most favored officers. Five years on Mars had given Zechs ample opportunity to reflect on the man who’d shaped him like malleable clay, had broken and remade him.

A dead man.

Zechs had piloted a gundam.  He had the heart damage to prove it.  But he wasn’t a Gundam Pilot, capital letters intentional.  

And Gundam Pilots didn’t  _ have _ partners.  Yuy, Chang, Barton, and, until recently, Maxwell, worked alone.  Nearly unsupervised, very close to unquestioned.  Winner ran WEI from afar, but rumor had it he was called in from time-to-time as well, for particularly  _ delicate  _ operations.

All of them with a particular disdain for their own safety.  It made partnering with them difficult to impossible, assuming they didn’t eat anyone assigned to them alive.

Maxwell, on the other hand, was so noticeably reckless that he’d been compared to a berserker.

Apparently he’d walked out of a terrorist hideout, covered in blood, manic grin on his face, and left no survivors.

The report had been heavily redacted.

It just so happened that his being called into question had coincided with Zechs’ return from self-imposed exile on the red planet, with his arrival in Une’s office to offer his services.

This was definitely her idea of a joke.

“Can we not?” Zechs sighed, bag still slung over his shoulder.  He made no attempt to move any further into the room.

“Not what?” The other man asked, and Zechs could see he was contemplating his next cutting remark. 

“Do this. I’m well aware of your displeasure at having been assigned with me. But you can call Zechs, or Merquise, or Mil, or any number of things that doesn’t remind me I was instrumental in destroying everything I’ve ever cared about. In return, I’ll do my best not to remind you of the path of destruction you carved through your own life.”

“Huh.” Duo chewed on his lip, looking, really looking, at Zechs. 

Maybe for the first time. 

He took in the shorn hair, the skin weathered from years of biting wind and red dust and back-breaking labor.

Gone were the days where Zechs looked anything like the princeling he’d been born.

“Yeah, alright.” The other man turned back to his computer screen without another word, and Zechs sighed silently in relief. He moved around the second desk in the room, one that had been hastily brought in, the room showing signs of having been rearranged recently, given the patterns of fading and uneven nap of the carpet.

He was just settling into his seat, booting up the computer, when Duo spoke again.

“I ain’t callin’ ya Zechs though.  Sounds too much like I’m propositionin’ someone.”

*

Six months into their forced partnership and they’d managed to not kill each other. 

That was about all they’d managed to do. 

Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate. They could, at least, be civil in the same room and plan missions with some degree of peaceful negotiation. 

Still. 

It wasn’t  _ easy _ . 

Zechs was starting to see the intention behind  Une’s plan, even if he didn’t entirely agree with it. Forcing Duo to partner with someone - anyone - who wasn’t another Gundam Pilot meant that his more foolhardy and death-defying ideas got scaled back, meant that he was more likely to come back alive. 

He was valuable. 

Zechs, on the other hand, was likely expendable. The Earth Sphere had done well enough without him for five years, after all, and it didn’t need him now. 

But it needed Maxwell. And Yuy, and Chang, and Barton, still doing the unimaginably impossible. 

And Une needed Zechs to keep Duo alive. 

So he did, despite the other man’s clear attempts otherwise. 

Zechs still wasn’t sure if he had a death wish or if it really was just blatant disregard for his own safety in the course of accomplishing a mission objective. 

The latest of which was the reason Zechs was currently in the Preventers’ locker room, preparing to wash away the scent of smoke and blood and  _ death -  _ a scent he associated with war and loss - before he went home to his small, tidy apartment and didn’t sleep. 

“The, uh, the rumors aren’t true.”

Zechs turned in confusion. Duo was standing a few feet away, wrapped in a towel, long hair dripping, clearly fresh out of the stall nearest to his own. Zechs barely remembered what it was like to have hair that long. 

It was a mark of Zechs’ tiredness that he hadn’t noticed the other man immediately. 

Or a mark of how far he’d gotten under his defenses. 

Zechs chose not to think of that. 

He was already plucking at his own clothes, dropping the jacket on a low bench and toeing off his shoes, when Duo spoke. 

“What rumors?” Zechs asked, unbuttoning his shirt. 

Duo flushed, the color rising from his chest up towards his cheeks. 

“The ones that imply I’ll sleep with anyone with a pulse. Maybe some without,” he muttered angrily. 

Zechs raised an eyebrow. 

There were persistent rumors all over Preventers about all of the pilots, with varying degrees of truthfulness. Yuy really could bend steel with his bare hands, and Barton absolutely did traverse a gap between buildings during a hostage situation using a power line as a tightrope. But Chang definitely did  _ not _ hold the world record for freediving. 

The man hated swimming, by his own admission. 

And Winner didn’t have any sort of harem, to the best of Zechs’ knowledge. 

The rumors about Duo, however, were less impressive and more insidious.

Obviously.

There was the occasional, hushed recounting of some heroic deed, but mostly the gossip pool centered on speculation about his past, his dating habits, and his bedroom proclivities.

“I’m taking advantage of the facilities, Maxwell, not your dubious favors. I smell like a corpse.”

“You look like one too,” Duo grinned cheerfully at him.

They’d been in the field for over thirty six hours with no showers, and capped it off with a firefight.  Zechs doubted he’d ever looked worse.

He snorted.

The grin widened, and Zechs could see he was gearing himself up for more of the infamous Maxwell wit, just as Zechs stripped his shirt off, dropping it carelessly next to the jacket. 

“Holy- what in the fuck happened to your back?”

Zechs glanced back from where he was adjusting the shower temperature, tilting his head just enough that he could barely see the edge of the ragged scar crossing his shoulder blade down to his spine.

Medical care on Mars wasn’t what it was on Earth.

“Well, I fought in two wars,” Zechs offered mildly, unsnapping his trousers and letting them hang at his hips.  Steam was rising from the shower stall in lazy wisps, beckoning to him.  Showers on Mars had been tepid at best, and downright frigid most days.

“Yeah, well, so did I, and I’ve got the scars to prove it, but that’s not a fuckin’ decade old scar.”

Duo’s own torso was littered with the physical reminders of a life hard-lived.  Shrapnel wounds, gunshot wounds, burns, and, notably, something that looked like road-rash that had been improperly treated.

Zechs shrugged negligently.  “Occupational hazard, then.”

“What the fuck kind of occupation-”

Zechs sighed in exasperation.  “I’m not a popular figure in certain circles.  Someone took exception to my presence.”  He didn’t intend to elaborate further.

Duo didn’t take the hint.

“That why you cut your hair?  Too recognizable?”

He didn’t turn.  “Is that why you chose not to cut yours?”

There was a telling silence behind him, and Zechs took advantage of the pause to kick free of his pants and underwear.  

If Duo Maxwell wanted to ogle his scars, there were plenty to choose from.

Just when he thought the other man was going to remain silent, or had, perhaps, left, he spoke again, forced cheer in his voice.

“I don’t cut mine ‘cause it makes me look sexy.”

Zechs turned to look back over his shoulder, taking in the hair in question, which Duo was nearly done braiding into a tight weave, the low slung towel, water dripping down his muscled shoulders and chest.

“You don’t need the hair for that.”

He stepped into the stall, leaving an uncharacteristically silent Duo gaping at him.

*

Their partnership got easier after that, for some mystifying reason that Zechs didn’t spend a lot of time dwelling on.  Duo stopped sniping at him in passing, started calling him ‘Mil’ instead of ‘hey you’ or ‘Blondie’ or ‘that asshole’, started taking him seriously when they were planning ops.

Started inviting him to pilot outings.  

Which Zechs declined with some relief, and Duo shrugged off with some mixture of resignation and regret that Zechs wasn’t about to touch.

So when Duo didn’t come to work with no explanation one day in late November, nearly a year since Zechs’ arrival, he didn’t think much of it at first.

Until he didn’t get a response to any of his texts, and finally, after lunch, he went looking for intel.

He found Barton in the break room, contemplating the soda machine with some disdain.

Zechs stood awkwardly to one side, watching the other man, who didn’t acknowledge him at all until he finally made a selection and punched out something vaguely radioactive in appearance.  When he stepped aside and Zechs made no move to approach the machine, he arched his visible eyebrow in question.

Clearly that was the only invitation he was going to get.

Zechs was beginning to hate Gundam Pilots.

He sighed irritably.  “Have you seen Duo today?” 

Barton smirked at him.  “Lost your partner?  How unfortunate.”

Zechs just waited.  

Green eyes regarded him in the silence for a long moment and then the other man checked his watch.  “Eighteen hundred hours.  There’s a park outside the city, I can give you the coordinates.”

Suitably cryptic, overall.

But here he was, at the appointed place and time, wandering the grounds aimlessly.  The sun had set a little less than an hour previously, and the temperature was already dropping dramatically. Zechs shivered inside his regulation jacket.

He found Duo, at last, on a rise as far from civilization as it was possible to get, lying directly on the ground, staring upwards.  He didn’t react to Zechs’ approach, although he was sure the braided pilot knew he was there.  He hadn’t tried to conceal himself, after all.

He stood a respectful distance away, within Duo’s peripherals, but not intrusive, ready to leave at the first sign of being told to fuck off. 

“What was Mars like?”

The words were quiet, barely carried to him on the breeze.

Duo still hadn’t looked at him, hadn’t really acknowledged his presence, still staring at the sky with a kind of contemplative look that reminded Zechs of the desperate colonists who’d arrived on a distant planet, looking for a last resort.

Zechs settled himself on the grass beside Duo, close enough that he could feel the other man’s body heat, but not close enough that they were actually touching.  He was silent for a long moment, turning the question over in his mind.

“I don’t remember much of my childhood.  Vague impressions of vaulted ceilings and gilded panels, and a man’s strong hand holding mine.  I can’t forget the chaos and blood and fire of the day it all burned to the ground around me.”  He paused, heard Duo’s swift intake of breath.

He knew enough of the other man’s history to understand that he knew something about a particular sort of nightmare.

“I vowed, as a teen, whisked away into hiding and forbidden to speak my real name, that I would restore the sort of  _ order _ to the world that would never allow for such a thing to happen again.  I was a Prince, after all, and if only the people could be made to  _ obey _ , to understand what was in their best interests, no other children would have to suffer as I had suffered.  It became a matter of personal pride, a singular focus, to bring about the sort of world order that would ensure peace.”

He shook his head.

They both knew how that had turned out.

Turning his head, he studied Duo’s profile, pale in the scant moonlight.  His eyes were looking up at the heavens but his thoughts were very far away. 

“Mars is where men go to die.”  He finally answered the original question.  Waited, in the silence, for Duo to respond.

“Why did you come back?”  Duo still didn’t look at him.  Just fiddled with the chain hanging around his neck, twisting the cross around and around.

Zechs sighed.  Took a calculated risk and reached for the hand in the grass beside him, twining their fingers together.

“Because I owed the world more than my death.  Because I can’t atone for the things I’ve done.  But I can work for the things the world deserves, the things I almost cost humanity.”

*

Zechs’ self-imposed penance had whittled him down to the barest, most fundamental parts of the man he was.

He was still an arrogant son of a bitch, but the airs of grandeur, the sense of his own importance were long since gone. The inevitability of his own success.

For the most part, what remained was the humility of a well-trained but expendable soldier, and a slightly warped sense of humor.  A desire for justice and the need to make reparations.

He’d never really had friends, even before he’d gone to Mars.  He’d had rivals and he’d had peers, and he’d had  _ Treize, _ who had been anything but his friend, and Une, who had been… something in between the two.  Not a friend and not an enemy, and only kind of a rival in the sense that Treize found it amusing to pit them against one another and watch how they responded.

So when Duo warmed up to him following their little chat in the park, he didn’t immediately recognize it for an overture of friendship.

Mostly he chalked it up to desensitization and familiarity. Both on his and Duo’s parts.  He’d revealed a shocking amount of personal information to the other pilot in passing, simply because it hadn’t occurred to him not to mention a past experience during mission planning, or answer a question when it was posed to him by the braided man.

The revelation that they were something like friends came in an unexpected way.

Zechs was walking down the hall, headed for the common room on their floor of the Preventers building, when he noticed the voices floating down the hallway towards him.  It wasn’t that unusual, it was a common room.

But the note of irritation threading its way into Duo’s voice caught his attention, and he paused to assess the situation.

“Oh go deepthroat a cactus, Sorensen.”

Zechs pictured the other agent in his mind.  Short, spacer pale, with wispy blonde hair and a nearly non-existent chin.

“No but really - ” and Zechs also recognized the grating quality of the other agent’s voice, from briefings where he could be frequently heard muttering under his breath.

As a colonial, he should, theoretically, be at least nominally supportive of Duo and the other pilots, but Zechs seemed to remember some kind of tension there.

“ - how did you end up being the only  _ Gundam Pilot _ saddled with a partner?” The question could not have been more heavily laced with sarcasm. 

“I was  _ given _ a partner, because they found someone who could keep up with me, unlike the rest of you slack-jawed yokels.  When someone else who also  _ happened to pilot a gundam  _ signs up for Preventer service, I’m sure Agents Yuy, Chang, and Barton will also be so lucky.”

Zechs found himself caught flat-footed in the hallway, surprised by the praise, surprised by a lot of things, not least of which was Duo’s defense of him.

“Oh, you’re saying  _ Sexy Zechsy _ has skills?”

There was a moment of silence so intense it was like all the air in the room had been sucked into vacuum, followed by a solid thump of what sounded like Duo’s boots hitting the ground.

Zechs could imagine they’d been propped unprofessionally on the nearest chair.

“Excuse me?”  Duo’s voice was frigid, razor sharp and furious, and Zechs could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

Making a split second decision, he resumed his trek into the common room, ostensibly for coffee, but more practically to prevent bloodshed.

“Gentlemen.”  Zechs breezed in as though he hadn’t been eavesdropping on the last few minutes’ worth of conversation, to find Sorensen so pale he looked like a corpse, and Duo considering how best he might make that happen.

He busied himself at the coffee station, taking far too long to make a simple cup of the travesty that passed for coffee in the common room, listening as the pair behind him shifted, the rattle of paper, the creaking of chairs.

When he turned around and propped his hip on the counter to sip at the hot brew, Duo was half-hidden behind a newspaper, and Sorensen was calculating exits.

Zechs thought back to what he knew of the man, his work, and his assignments, and struck gold.

Duo wasn’t the only one with a vicious streak.

“Isn’t Barton heading out to L3 this week?” Zechs asked, all casual nonchalance.

Lowering the paper enough that his eyes were visible, Duo raised his eyebrows in clear question.

Zechs had, after all, sat in on the briefing regarding that particular mission.

He raised one eyebrow back as he sipped his coffee.

Duo seemed to take the hint.

“Yeah, Tro ‘n Heero are flyin’ a team out to L3 to check out some leads on the smuggling operation we’ve been monitorin’, why?”

Zechs cut his eyes ever-so-slightly toward Sorensen.

Sorensen, who was on the team flying to L3 with Trowa and Heero, who was slated to be on a ten day trip in close quarters on a flying tin can, where any number of things could go wrong at any moment.

It might be time to remind the man of that fact, and the fact that Duo was a close friend of the two of them. 

That Zechs was more than just a pretty face. Well, it wasn’t as pretty as it had been, but he was still more than just hot air between the ears.

Duo’s eyes crinkled in amusement as he caught Zechs’ train of thought.

“I thought I might stop by his office this afternoon and go over the flight plan with him.  There’s a fair amount of debris around the colony still, and it shifts frequently.  I think it was just a few days ago that a cargo shuttle in the area took on damage, and only about half the crew made it to dock.”

Duo grinned wolfishly, bringing the paper down further, but the look was gone from his face almost as fast as it appeared. 

“Oh yeah, man, have you ever seen what happens to a guy in explosive decompression?”  He shook his head in the kind of morbid amusement that long-time spacers and medical personnel shared.  A kind black humor that sustained you through adrenaline-fueled moments of terror and determination.

Zechs shuddered dramatically.  

“It would be a shame if anything happened to Trowa’s crew while they were on the op.  Between the smugglers and the space debris, anything could go wrong...”  Zechs trailed off meaningfully.

Sorensen was looking a less-than-attractive shade of chartreuse.  

Finishing his coffee, Zechs turned to go, drifting towards the part of the building where Barton's office was located. 

He paused, nearly out of earshot, to wait.

Duo didn’t disappoint him. 

“If you ever say somethin’ like that again, I’ll rip your rib cage outta your chest and wear it like a hat.”  There was a pause in which Zechs imagined the furious gaze of Shinigami.  “You got me?”  Another beat of silence.  “Good.”

Zechs continued on his way, his steps perhaps a bit more jaunty than before.

Duo Maxwell was a good man to have in your corner.

*

Zechs looked up at the rap of knuckles against the doorframe to find Quatre Winner, impeccably dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, watching him shrewdly.

He wondered how long the other man had been standing there, watching while he was distracted by the clusterfuck of paperwork that was their last mission. 

Judging by the relaxed posture, a while.

But then, this was Quatre Winner.

Impossible to say.

“Duo’s not here,” Zechs offered the obvious, as his partner was notably absent.  “He had a meeting with Yuy.”

“I know.”  Winner’s smile was open, welcoming, warm. His gaze was calculating. His words were cryptic.  He knew Duo wasn’t there - it was impossible to miss - or he knew that Duo was at a meeting with Yuy, or he knew why there was a meeting, or he knew the secret to waste-free combustion?

Zechs snorted.  

For all that Quatre Winner didn’t cut an imposing figure, for those who were privy to any sort of personal information about the Gundam Pilots, it was strongly suspected that the man had masterminded all of their most successful exercises.

As Zechs was well-aware.  He’d had access to Oz’s best intelligence, after all.

“You should come to dinner,” Winner said, finally, when Zechs had gone back to his paperwork, leaving the other man to ponder him in silence.

“Excuse me?”  He barely glanced up to acknowledge the words.

“Dinner.”  Winner shifted, sliding his hands into his pockets, his shoulder still against the jam, still watching Zechs carefully.  He didn’t look like one of the five most dangerous men on the planet.  

Zechs knew better.  

He was probably the  _ most _ dangerous, given his connections.  He was like Relena, all political savvy and social graces.  Except that his sister - still a strange concept, that he had a sister - was everything good that humanity had to offer, and Quatre Winner was a weapon forged in fire and determined to shape the future of the human race.

“I know Duo’s invited you.  Several times.  You should come.”

Apparently determined to mold Zechs Merquise as well.

Choking back what would have been a second snort, he went back to scribbling on paper.  “Why on earth would I do that?”  The words were clipped, bitter.

For all Duo’s words to the contrary several months ago, he wasn’t a  _ Gundam Pilot _ .  Just a soldier.  And not a very good one.  Efficient.  Skilled.  But not good.

“Because Duo asked you.”

More silence.  Zechs didn’t bite.

“He’s never asked anyone before.”

Zechs did glance up, at that, but Winner was already gone.

He sighed.

The words haunted him all afternoon, as they were intended to do.  Duo had never asked anyone to the dinner before.  Which implied, perhaps, that the others could, and did, invite people into the fold.  That perhaps there had been other guests at their little gatherings.  Or that nothing of the sort had happened, but Duo felt Zechs should be included.  Or a million other things ranging from Duo felt sorry for him because he was even more alone than Duo himself, to Duo respected him, to Duo  _ liked _ him, a situation so impossible as to be laughable.

Sure, they'd gone out for drinks a few times, and once for dinner, and Duo frequently offered or attempted to include Zechs in his own social life, but Zechs had grown used to - comfortable with - isolation and silence, a lack of company other than his own.

Whatever Zechs’ unvoiced feelings for the other man may have been.

He accomplished exactly nothing for the remainder of the day, even when, or perhaps especially because, after Duo returned from his meeting, he made no mention of either Yuy or Winner.

Duo texted him the time and place for dinner, as he had every other time he’d offered Zechs the invitation, and, as usual, Zechs didn’t acknowledge the message.

But he somehow found himself standing outside the restaurant ten minutes after the appointed time, wrestling with indecision. 

He’d just about convinced himself to turn around and go home when a familiar voice spoke.

“Leaving so soon?”

Quatre Winner stood on the curb, coat whipping in the wind, watching him knowingly.

Given his chosen occupation, it was probably unusual for the other man to be late to any gathering.  He’d been raised with better manners.  Zechs glanced around the surrounding area, noted a dark, expensive sedan across the street, parked with a perfect view of the entrance.

He couldn’t figure out why the blond billionaire was so invested in this.  

He sighed in resignation.

“I was considering it,” Zechs admitted.  He’d long since forgotten any manners that had been instilled in his youth.

Winner hummed thoughtfully, rocking back on his heels.  “You should come in,” he said, finally.  “You have to eat, I assume, and I’m buying.  You should take advantage.”

Zechs snorted, his lips twisting.

How many people could say they’d eaten with all of the Gundam Pilots, paid for by Quatre Winner himself? Probably not many.

He followed the other man into the restaurant, the hostess leading them into a private room in the back.  

Of course.  

“Q!  Thought you’d changed your mind about dinin’ with the rest of us plebeians…”. Duo trailed off as he saw another person enter the room.

“Oh, well, I ran into a familiar face outside and got sidetracked.”

Duo wasn’t listening.  He was smiling up at Zechs like he was honestly, genuinely happy to see him.

It was unnerving.

Zechs wasn’t used to being welcomed.

Nothing was said regarding the seating arrangements, but Zechs still somehow found himself seated next to Duo at the small table, close enough that their knees bumped and their shoulders brushed.  No one mentioned his unusual presence at their meal, and they included him in conversation easily without pressuring him to speak.

It was, for all intents and purposes, a casual gathering of friends.

A novel concept.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the mention of his name.

“Yeah, well, fuckin’ Sorensen deserved whatever he got, the fucker.  He started shit with me ‘n Mil, and we put the fear of Shinigami into him, didn’t?”  His elbow dug into Zechs’ side.

He snorted in amusement.  “Something to that effect, I suppose.”

Trowa’s lips twitched.  “He flinched every time the proximity alarms went off for the entire twelve days.”

“What did he start, Duo?”  Quatre asked the question with studious nonchalance, cutting into his chicken with practiced ease.  Zechs could see the glitter of his eyes under his lashes, gazing in his direction.

“Ah, well-” 

Zechs could see the tips of Duo’s ears pinking.

“I’ve never been entirely certain whether the implication was that Duo was too incompetent to perform adequately without a partner, or if it was some sort of slur regarding my rumored proclivity for sleeping my way to positions of power, or both, to be quite honest.”  He paused thoughtfully, water glass raised towards his mouth.  “Both, probably,” he decided, taking a long drink before setting it back down.

Five pairs of eyes blinked back at him.

Duo scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck while the other four pilots turned back to their plates without a word, leaving Zechs feeling as though he was the one who’d missed something.

Finally Chang rolled his eyes.

“The current office gossip pool, sordid as always,” his voice conveyed his extreme distaste for the topic, “holds that you’re sleeping with Maxwell, and that’s how you got such a  _ coveted _ position in Preventers.”

Heero snorted loudly.

“You shut your fuckin’ mouth Yuy,  _ I’ve _ never knocked a partner unconscious because it was easier to carry them out of the field than wait for them to figure out their ass from a hole in the ground.  That's the  _ only _ reason anyone has ever requested me as a partner.”

Heero smirked at him across the table.  “No one ever requests me anymore.  I think it was a well-played strategy, don’t you?”

They continued to bicker amongst themselves, revealing that Chang had threatened resignation after his first partner, and Barton went through partners like a porn star at the height of her career. Most often leaving them behind on scene, slipping through crowds unnoticed and using his superior abilities to scale walls or walk wires.

If he’d been less shocked, Zechs would have found it extremely amusing.

Currently, however, Zechs was- well, he wasn’t sure what he was.

He’d thought a lot about how he’d come to be Duo’s partner, about what actions had lead to that decision, had come to the conclusion that he was there to ensure Duo’s usefulness to Une.

When in fact, he was only Duo’s partner because Duo allowed it, from the sounds of things.  That he’d said or done something to earn the other man’s respect, or at least tolerance.

Duo’s knee brushed his under the table and Zechs glanced over to see him looking him over with concern.  Zechs shook his head.  The others had already moved on to the next topic, something about the latest foreign policy proposal.

“I… apologize,” Zechs, said, finally.  “I didn’t realize-”

Duo cut him off with a laugh.  “What’re you kiddin’ me?  Rumors that I’m knockin’ boots with the Lightning Count himself do nothing but improve my rep.  Thank you for not noticing, and thereby increasing my level of cool exponentially.”

Zechs rolled his eyes, at the same time as Duo reached down, brushing his fingers across Zechs’ exposed wrist.

The fingers disappeared, but the heat lingered, leaving Zechs wondering about a lot of things.

Re-evaluating a lot of the last eighteen months.

Dinner broke up organically, Wufei citing research for a case, Heero and Trowa quick to follow, Zechs eyeing them suspiciously.  

Trowa winked at him on the way out. 

Quatre strolled out behind the other three as though he hadn’t a care in the world, but he looked entirely too self-satisfied for Zechs’ comfort level.  That would bear watching in the future.

Zechs stretched as he stood, trailing Duo out the door.  He’d walked to the restaurant, the location surprisingly close to his apartment, and he was fully expecting for the evening to end here.  A surprisingly pleasant evening, coming to its natural conclusion and leaving Zechs with entirely too much on his mind.

Duo kept walking however, in the same direction Zechs was traveling, and he naturally fell into step with the braided man, months of time together making it easy to match his pace.  

Two or three inches shorter, and rangy where Zechs was broad-shouldered, they nevertheless paired well together, both with long strides and purposeful movements.  Their shoulders barely brushed as they walked, and Duo’s hand glanced across his every so often.

Zechs wondered if it had always been like that, or if they’d both unconsciously adjusted to accommodate the other. 

Duo pulled up short outside Zechs’ building, standing expectantly as Zechs looked around them in confusion.  He was relatively certain he hadn’t actually told the other man where he lived, though he supposed Duo had the skill to hack Preventers’ records.

Laughing softly at the look on his face, Duo took a step forward.  

“I followed you home the first night you showed up to be my partner.”  The tone was low, intimate, and it sent a shiver down his spine, right up until the words registered.  

He reared back, staring down at the slightly-shorter man, who looked far too amused at the situation.  When Zechs continued not speaking, Duo finally shrugged, the first glimmer of self-consciousness peeking through the brash exterior.

“I’m glad you came out tonight,” he offered, eventually, grinning up at Zechs.

Zechs chewed on his lower lip, regarding Duo thoughtfully.  “Me too,” he said.  Paused.  “But I’m not sleeping with you just to satisfy the rumor mongers.”

Duo threw his head back and laughed, Zechs admiring the line of his throat, the pure, unadulterated joy in his laughter.  When his chuckles finally subsided, he had another question.

“What about to satisfy a mutual attraction?”

It was Zechs’ turn to step closer, into Duo’s personal space but not touching, the heat between their bodies combining and intertwining.  He reached out, resting his hand along Duo’s hip, the touch light and easily rejected.  

Duo pressed into it.

“I could be persuaded to pursue something like that,” Zechs admitted, his lips twisting into the kind of small, genuine smile that so seldom crossed his face.

Darting in - Zechs always forgot just how fast, how sly he could be - Duo stole a kiss, just a firm press of lips, slightest flick of tongue, designed to leave an impression, leave him wanting more, and then the other man was gone, dancing out of reach.

“Call me,” he called over his shoulder, turning to wink.

Zechs laughed all the way up to his apartment, lips still tingling.


End file.
